


Relationship Weight

by Keybearer13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Belly Rubs, Chubby Kink, Chubby Stiles, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Post-Canon, Stuffing, Teasing, Weight Gain, gaining and encouraging, tight clothes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24533674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keybearer13/pseuds/Keybearer13
Summary: Stiles has packed on the freshman 15. AFTER having moved out of his freshman dorm. Apparently living with his boyfriend might be hazardous to his waistline.Stiles and Derek embark upon a journey together full of growth, new discoveries about themselves, and an evolving understanding of each other.Also a lot of fucking food.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 3
Kudos: 105





	1. Hunky Werewolves Should Come With a Warning Label or Something

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I intend to do with this fic long-term, but I thought it might be fun to explore a gaining/encouraging relationship using one of my all-time favorite ships. If anything needs to be tagged that is not, let me know and I'll add it in. Enjoy, and bon appétit!

Stiles Stilinski plopped face-first onto the couch in he and his boyfriend’s shared apartment. He groaned loudly, muffled by the fabric of the couch.

“Sounds like dinner went well,” Derek Hale, his loving boyfriend, said sarcastically from the kitchen nearby.

Stiles lifted himself up from where he’d face-planted. “I love my dad,” he said, “I really do. But he and Melissa could stand to let up on the cute factor for five minutes. It was a mistake not bringing you along.” He groaned again and flipped over so he was facing the TV, which was tuned to the evening news. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it violently.

Derek strode with preternatural grace—benefits of being a werewolf—from the kitchen into the living room, a steaming plate of leftover spaghetti with garlic bread in hand. “You’re the one who insisted I deal with the rogue Omega so you and Scott could do family night.” He plopped down onto the couch next to Stiles, and leaned in to give him a brief kiss. “It went fine, by the way.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You’re still in one piece, so I kind of assumed.” He huffed and grabbed for the fork on Derek’s plate.

Derek pulled the plate out of Stiles’ reach. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I worked hard for this.” He twisted a large bite of spaghetti onto his fork and stuck it into his mouth. “I thought you guys already ate,” he said, slightly muffled by the food in his mouth.

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “Melissa took my lessons to heart a little too well. It was a tiny serving of grilled chicken with green beans. You’d think she’d forgotten her son was a werewolf.” He pouted at Derek pitifully. “I’m still hungry, Der. I need my adoring, wonderful, amazing hunk of a boyfriend to feed me so I don’t die of starvation.”

Derek rolled his eyes fondly. “You won’t die.” He knocked his knee into Stiles’ leg. “Go make a plate. There should still be enough in the fridge.”

Stiles let out a long-suffering groan. “But Der,” he whined. “Why should I have to move when I have a hot boyfriend to get it for me?”

Derek took another bite of pasta. “You’re not an invalid. Do it yourself or no sex later.”

Stiles sprung up. “Just kidding I’m totally good to do it myself,” he said as he made his way towards the kitchen. He could practically feel Derek smirking behind him.

They had opted for a modern apartment—anything a step up from Derek’s old loft—near a bus stop that Stiles could take to the college a town over. Derek was footing the bill, of course, and Stiles was under no illusions that he’d hit the jackpot for his sophomore year of college. He’d been forced to live in the dorms the previous year, of course, but after he and Derek had finally figured out their shit, it had seemed trivial to move in together. They were approaching six months at this place, and Stiles would sometimes marvel at how good his life had become.

He padded his way over to the fridge, flung it open, and started taking out the Tupperware holding his food hostage. He piled his plate high with noodles, sauce, and green beans. Before long it was reheated, and Stiles was on his way back to the couch.

He plopped down next to Derek—whose plate was empty on the coffee table—and took a bite. He immediately moaned at the taste. When he’d first discovered Derek could cook—and cook well—he’d bemoaned the fact that he hadn’t been taking advantage of his boyfriend’s skills long beforehand. Derek—when he wasn’t busy with the personal trainer gig he’d gotten at a local gym—often cooked breakfast and dinner. Stiles was immensely pleased with the situation, and had never turned down a meal that the werewolf had made.

He paused in the middle of raising a bite to his mouth and let the fork drop onto the plate with a wet plop. Should he really be eating a second dinner? Especially one that was piled onto the plate like this one? He grimaced and looked down at his stomach, which he’d definitely noticed starting to pooch lately. He glanced over at Derek, eyes glued to the screen, and compared himself to the werewolf’s stunningly ripped physique. Stupid werewolf metabolisms.

He’d avoided the freshman 15 as a freshman in the dorms, but had picked it up in the months since moving in with Derek. Having a hunky man to cook for him all the time had done him in where parties, pizza, and unlimited meal plans had not. He carefully placed his plate on the coffee table, his mood soured. Maybe he’d have to make an appointment with Derek at the gym.

Likely smelling the sour change in Stiles’ mood, Derek’s extremely expressive eyebrows drew close together. “What’s wrong? It can’t have gone bad since I made my plate.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably, suddenly all too aware of the slight pinch he’d been starting to experience in his jeans lately. “It’s good, I just—” He crossed his arms, trying in vain to hide his body away. “I shouldn’t really be eating it.”

Derek scowled. “Do you not like my cooking?”

“No, it’s not that I just—”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.” Derek grabbed the plate and attempted to hand it back to him. Stiles refused to take it.

“I just don’t want it, Derek,” he said testily. “I’m getting too fat as is, and you deserve better than that.” He rubbed at his eyes. “You can get me a discounted membership at your gym, right? So maybe we should just do that and I can go in after class tomorrow.”

Derek frowned, his trademark scowl falling into place. Stiles gulped. He hadn’t seen that particular expression in months. “Stiles,” he said, “You’re not fat.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dude, you don’t have to play coy with me. I know I’m starting to get a little—” He motioned a curve in the air in front of his torso. “Y’know. Bulge.”

Derek laughed and set the plate down on the table. “The only ‘bulge,’” he said, making air quotes, “That you have is a little further south.” His gaze traveled downwards lasciviously towards said location before snapping up to Stiles’ eyes, a single eyebrow raised. “You have nothing to worry about, Stiles.”

Stiles’ breathing went shallow, blood rushing south. He shook his head and whacked Derek on his incredibly muscular chest. “You’re an ass, and totally trying to distract me from the conversation.” He grabbed his shirt and yanked it up, revealing a layer of excess flesh pooching outwards. “Does this not look bulge-like to you?”

Derek snorted. “I think you’re placing entirely too much stock in your appearance.” He got up and slid his legs over Stiles’ until the muscular werewolf was sitting in Stiles’ lap. It was more hot than uncomfortable. Derek didn’t do it often—usually preferring for Stiles to slide into his own lap—but it was not unwelcome. Derek placed one hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, and the other found purchase on Stiles’ little pooch. “You are healthy, Stiles,” he said, hands ghosting over Stiles’ skin. “The only thing that ever matters to me is that you are healthy and happy, okay? Nothing your body ever does will ever turn me away. I love you.”

Stiles’ breath hitched. It wasn’t his first time hearing those words, but it still took his breath away. His mind was reeling at the idea that Derek had noticed, but hadn’t cared. It’s not like their sex life had diminished at all recently, anyway. So at least he knew Derek still wanted him like that. Even if he was sporting a little more than he had been when they’d started dating.

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Insecurity still bubbled under the surface of his skin. “Like, you’re not completely repulsed by me right now?”

Derek rolled his eyes and dragged a finger down the line of Stiles’ throat teasingly. “Positive. Besides, you being fat would be far from a deal-breaker.”

Stiles frowned. “What do you mean?”

Derek blushed. “Did I never tell you about the guy I dated while I was living in New York?”

“No. I thought the rest of your dating history—Braeden aside—was traumatic enough to skip past in our numerous conversations.” Especially since Stiles in no way wanted to remind Derek that he’d once dated Derek’s cousin Malia. Both of their dating histories had seemed like kind of a no-go.

Derek laughed lightly. “Yeah, no kidding.” He bit his lip. “I wouldn’t say he was ever my boyfriend, but I was seeing a guy for a while off and on who was something like 300 pounds when we started dating.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”

Derek nodded, flushing. “Yep. And he ended up closer to 350 by the time we ended things. Which were entirely unrelated to his body, I might add. It had more to do with a certain supernatural hot-spot calling me home.” He shrugged. “It had always been a little more casual. So he wasn’t really bothered by my decision to move back here.”

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Derek Hale,” he said teasingly. “I never would have taken you for a chubby chaser.”

Derek huffed and shoved himself off of Stiles and back to where he’d been sitting. “Yeah, totally. Just for that, you’re not getting any before you put on 15 more pounds. At least.”

Derek’s tone was dry, but Stiles was accustomed enough to recognize his boyfriend’s brand of sarcasm. Still, the comment elicited a bit of a familiar tug down below. He blushed furiously as Derek lifted a judgmental eyebrow at him. Damn werewolves and their superior noses. “I don’t know!” Stiles said by way of explanation. He shoved his shirt down haphazardly and grabbed the mostly-full plate—still warm, thankfully—from the coffee table and took a large bite.

Derek smirked. “Why Stiles,” he said, voice low and teasing, “Do I smell some new kinks we might want to look into?” His hand snaked its way towards Stiles’ torso, toward the small bit of exposed skin that his shirt wasn’t covering towards the bottom.

Stiles swatted his boyfriend’s hand away and rolled his eyes. “Fuck off,” he said, mouth half full, “You know what you and orders do to me.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “And if I ordered you to make another plate after you finish this one?” His tone was dangerously close to the sinful range that they both knew would make Stiles squirm.

Not to be deterred, Stiles retorted, “I’d tell you to fuck off cause we both know I can’t eat that much.” Still, his dick was not cooperating, clearly still interested in the proposition.

Derek licked his lips, eyes darkening. “We could work on that.”

Stiles’ choked on the bite he’d been eating. “Derek,” he said. “Knock it off.”

Derek ducked his head in apology, bit his lip, and leaned back, gaze slipping back to the TV. His skin was still flushed distractingly. Stiles hated his boyfriend for being so goddamned hot. He took another large bite. He chewed over his boyfriend’s apparent willingness to order him into stuffing himself. It tickled something at the back of his mind, a dark corner of the internet he’d once stumbled upon during his frequent ADHD-fueled Wikipedia deep-dives. There had been an article he’d happened upon, which had led to a bit of Googling, which had led to a certain corner of Tumblr that had left him slightly hot under the collar for reasons he hadn’t been particularly inclined to explore. He’d all but forgotten about it until now, if he was being honest.

Stiles allowed himself to think about it for a moment. The concept of weight gain had always fascinated him if only in seeing how bodies could change. He was similarly fascinated by muscles and the process of building them. He’d never acquire the kind of discipline building muscle required—the only times he really enjoyed any kind of exercise involved teams of some capacity, like lacrosse in high school—but did that mean he’d have to stay scrawny forever? He’d mostly maintained his body up until this point—well, until recently at least—by chance. He’d never really worked to form his body one way or another at any point in his life. He’d welcomed the tone and stamina increases gained from running around with Scott and the rest of the pack over the course of their many fights against supernatural threats, but he hadn’t actively sought it out. And now? When the threats weren’t coming every five minutes? When they could relax and enjoy their lives? He’d never been a particular asset in the field, and had found his place as the brains alongside Lydia—their supernatural research parties were fun times all around—so what was stopping him from indulging every once in a while? More than that, even, if he really wanted.

He bit his lip, looked at Derek, and took another bite. His plate was nearing empty, and he was starting to feel full. He wondered how much he really could eat if he pushed himself. He’d always been a curious guy. It was only natural to test ideas.

He cleared his plate soon after, full and comfortable. He flicked his eyes at Derek, who was still staring at the TV, before grabbing Derek’s plate. He stood up and made his way to the kitchen. He slotted Derek’s dish and silverware into the dishwasher, and made to fix himself a smaller second helping of his second dinner. The thought sent a secret thrill up his spine. He’d been a little insecure about the weight he’d put on before talking to Derek, sure. But knowing that Derek was okay with it? That Derek seemed almost too willing to engage in stuff like this? Well, Stiles was only human.

He plopped back down on the couch soon enough, and slowly started making his way through his second plate. Derek wasn’t looking at him, but the smirk on his face said enough. “Oh fuck you,” Stiles said. “I’ll eat if I want to.” Derek bit his lip and laughed silently, and Stiles took another pointed bite. Stiles shrugged as Derek’s silent chuckles settled down. “Well you did say 15 pounds, Der.”

Derek’s eyes went wide and his focus snapped to Stiles. “Are you serious?”

Stiles shrugged. “Might be fun,” he said. His heart was beating frantically. The idea was beginning to sound more than just “fun,” if he was being honest.

Derek wiped a hand down his face and took a shaky breath. “Finish that, then we’re talking about this.” He turned back to the TV and was staring far too intently at it. Oh, yes. This was definitely going to be fun if Derek’s reaction was anything to go by.

Stiles took another bite, spurred on by arousal. He was starting to edge towards uncomfortable, so he splayed a hand on his stomach and groaned around his full mouth.

Derek glanced at him, then focused acutely on the TV. “Undo the button on your jeans. That always helped my ex.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at that, but did as suggested. The relief was astounding. “Thanks,” he said, still chewing. He swallowed and closed his eyes. He still had several more bites to go, but he thought he could do it. “Was your ex, like. Into this sort of thing?”

Derek flushed and coughed. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I sort of—” He glanced at Stiles. “Helped him.” He shrugged. “It was hot.”

Stiles hummed. “Noted,” he said, then punctuated it with another bite. He leaned back and rested his head on the back of the couch.

“Do you need some help?” Derek asked, his eyebrows knitting with sympathy.

Stiles grimaced. “Not sure you could unless you wanted to do the pain suck thing.” He’d always loved that particular werewolf power.

Derek shook his head. “You might just end up thinking you can eat more and then rupturing something. The pain is there for a reason, Stiles.” He frowned. “But—and I know we haven’t entered the official negotiation or anything yet, but—I could rub your stomach? My ex seemed to like it, so I guess I—” He coughed. “It’s an idea.”

Stiles mulled it over. He always loved having Derek’s hands on him, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d like that kind of attention on a part of his body that—while he knew Derek enjoyed—could be a source of insecurity. In the end, though, the thought of Derek’s hands touching him was too much. “Just do it,” he said.

Derek’s hands were on him in an instant, pulling up his shirt and gently massaging the gentle curve of his stomach. It felt good—really good—and he couldn’t help the moan that escaped him at the careful caresses. It also seemed to alleviate some of the pressure that’d been building, so with a triumphant groan, Stiles scooped the last bite of delicious pasta into his mouth. Derek grabbed the plate without even being asked and set it carefully onto the coffee table before continuing to massage Stiles’ stomach.

“So,” Stiles said. He stifled a burp. “Obviously you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Derek bit his lip and nodded, chancing a glance at Stiles’ face before re-focusing on his task. “I’m up for whatever you want to do, Stiles. You name it.”

Stiles smiled softly at his boyfriend, who seemed to be treating Stiles’ body with some kind of reverence. He was always awestruck by how attentive his boyfriend could be when he wanted to be. “Well I’m interested in giving it a shot at least. 15 pounds, see how it goes.” He blushed. “The eating I could definitely get used to. We both know I love your food.”

Derek grinned. “Cooking I can do,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

Stiles smiled lovingly at Derek, then bit his lip and averted his eyes. “And if I—if I end up liking it?”

Derek shrugged. “I love you. So there’d just be more of you to love.”

Stiles ducked his head. “I love you, too, you big marshmallow.”

Derek gave him a pointed look. “Pretty sure it’s you who’ll—”

Stiles whacked him in his chiseled abs and Derek laughed. “If you finish that sentence, I will refuse to suck you off tonight.”

Derek chuckled and raised his hands in surrender, the first time they’d left Stiles’ stomach since Stiles had finished eating. They both ducked their heads and threw furtive glances at one another, soft smiles on their faces. Derek broke the silent stalemate, wrapping his hands gently around Stiles’ neck before moving in to pull his lips into a gentle and familiar back-and-forth.

The push-and-pull of kissing Derek always sent a warm thrill through Stiles’ body. There was something else there tonight, though. The smooth, languid glide seemed almost like a promise. All too soon, Derek pulled away, and Stiles chased the loss of contact fruitlessly. Derek smirked down at him. “I think we have some ice cream in the freezer,” he said, not-at-all as nonchalantly as he’d probably been aiming for.

Stiles rolled his eyes fondly. “Give me half an hour,” he said.

Derek’s smile made Stiles’ heart soar. Yeah. This would be fun.


	2. Someone Should Have Said That Being Fat Could Be A Problem Against Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midnight runs through the preserve while being chased by supernatural murder machines? Not a fun time at peak condition, less fun with thirty extra pounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only posting the second chapter so quickly cuz I couldn't sleep after finishing the first part. Whoops. Also, the sexy parts will come eventually, don't fret. Enjoy and bon appétit!

Stiles was more winded than he’d have liked to be. Of course, he was sporting an extra 30 or so pounds than he had been the last time something like this had happened. Granted, running halfway across the Beacon Hills Preserve while being chased by a deadly monster would wind anybody.

He leaned against the cold concrete wall and tried to catch his breath in the relative safety of the basement of the burnt-out and half-collapsed Hale House. “No,” Stiles said sarcastically between chugs of air, “We’ll be fine, Scott. You and Kira go on that trip to Disneyland. Don’t worry about it.” He leaned his head back against the cold wall. “No, Chris, go to that gun convention. Derek and I can handle things here.” Finally catching his breath, he glared over at his not-sweaty boyfriend, breath perfectly in control. “Please, the next time I offer to let all the big guns leave town while the kiddies are away at college, hit me with my bat.” He fanned the collar of his shirt. The sweaty parts under his arms and on his back were starting to get grossly cold. It didn’t help that the shirt he was wearing was one of the ones he’d probably need to retire soon if he kept up the gains. It was clinging to every new bit of flesh they’d added to his frame in the past three months.

Derek kept his eyes focused on the door they’d just slammed and hastily bolted shut, muscles still tensed. “To be fair, we couldn’t have known that a witch controlling a Kanima would show up.”

Stiles shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, but like. Come on. It’s like we were asking for this sort of thing. It almost makes me miss Jackson, honestly. Why’d we let him and Ethan go back to England, again?”

Derek rolled his eyes and lolled his head towards Stiles, hands on his distractingly trim waist. “You wanted to keep Jackson here?”

Stiles grimaced. “Point, but still. It’d be nice to have other queer couples to hang out with. Scott and Kira are adorable and lovely and all, but we need more queer friends.” At the pointed look Derek gave him, Stiles waved his arm in front of his face. “Don’t look at me like that. Mason, Corey, and Danny aren’t even here right now. I meant locals, dickhead.”

Derek huffed. “We could always go to clubs.”

Stiles frowned. “Yeah, where my hot boyfriend would look like he was picking up alongside his chubby best friend. Not gonna happen.” Derek shrugged, and Stiles rolled his eyes. “I suppose I could check out one of those sites for people like us I’ve been meaning to look into.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Like. Gainers. Encouragers. There’s stuff online for it.” He shrugged. “We can’t be the only ones in Beacon Hills. We might be surprised.”

Derek huffed a laugh. “Whatever you want to do. We should focus right now on trying to deal with the Kanima. And hope that your dad found Deaton.”

Stiles nodded and pulled out his phone. “No service. Great.” He slumped against the wall. “Guess we’ll have to wait until the Kanima gets bored with us. Or else the witch comes and blows down the door.”

Derek laughed. “What, don’t want to run halfway across the preserve again?”

Stiles groaned. “Fuck no. I could hardly do that before you packed all this weight onto me.” He punctuated his statement with a light tap to his stomach, which had more give than it had a few months ago.

Derek raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Stiles’ burgeoning middle. “Like you’ve complained.”

“Well now I am. I was almost Kanima-chow back there. I am not a fan of that mental image, and I think I’d like the reality even less.” He shivered.

Derek sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and settled against the wall near the door. “Do you want to stop? We said we’d re-evaluate around now anyway.”

Stiles crossed his arms and shrugged. “I don’t know. I like it. I think I’d like more. A lot more, if I’m being honest. But doesn’t it seem dangerous?” He waved a hand towards the door. “I mean with stuff like this happening. Even infrequently.”

Derek was silent for a moment, considering. “It’s your body, Stiles. You can do whatever you want with it. If you want to stop—lose weight even—then I will support you a hundred percent. You know that.” He chewed his lip. “But I also don’t agree with your reasoning.”

“So you want me so out of shape I can’t outrun deadly monsters? That we are bound to run into occasionally since we live on a freaking real-life Hellmouth?”

Derek rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. It pumped up his biceps and accentuated his thick chest incredibly distractingly. “You know that’s not what I meant. But who’s to say you even need to be coming out here with us to take care of this stuff? You’re at your best doing research and you know it. You’re human anyway—most of the rest of us have supernatural healing. Hell, even Lydia has defenses you don’t.”

“So I’m just supposed to stay at home and stuff my face while you’re off risking your life?”

“No! You stay safe so that I know the man I love won’t get hurt doing something stupid!”

“Has that been your goal all along, then? Fatten me up to keep me out of the way?”

“My goal was to make you happy!”

Stiles took a deep breath. Derek followed suit. “That got a little more heated than I thought it would,” Stiles remarked. He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Look, I’m sorry I went after you like that. I guess this Kanima situation just scared me a little. Made me question what we’re doing.”

Derek nodded. “I get it. You’re the one carrying the effects of our sex life everywhere you go. I do mean it. If you want to stop, we’ll stop. I’ll love you no matter what your body’s like.”

Stiles smiled. “I appreciate it, Der. I wouldn’t count us out just yet, though. I’m sure we can find some workarounds so I can still be useful in the field while also keeping my figure.” He ran his hands down his body mock-seductively, hands running over more bumps and curves than he was accustomed to. “Besides, it’s not like this is happening every other week anymore.”

Derek groaned. “I sure fucking hope not. That was exhausting. Even for the wolves.”

Stiles grimaced. “Yeah. I didn’t really like seeing you or Scott half dead every other week. I swear we cut at least ten years off Melissa’s life expectancy with all the blood she’s had to clean out of his clothes over the years.” He snorted. “At least she only has to tend to wounds when it’s Lydia, my dad, or me. She’d have an aneurysm if she had to clean every wound you guys have gotten.”

Derek’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Hopefully there won’t be any wound-tending tonight. I’d hate to let the blackberry cobbler I made go to waste while you were stuck in the hospital.”

Stiles perked up. “You made cobbler? Your mom’s recipe?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Nope. Bought it at the store.” He gave Stiles a pointed look. “Of course it’s my mom’s recipe. Who do you take me for?”

Stiles grinned widely. “Man, you have been holding out on me this entire conversation! What’s the occasion?”

Derek looked pointedly at Stiles’ stomach yet again. “Other than my vacuum cleaner of a boyfriend constantly demanding food from me?”

“Point. We’re still getting donuts from that little bakery on Main tomorrow morning. You know I always get hungry after a hunt.”

“Only then?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Like you’d say no to me stuffing myself anyway. I happen to know you love it. Your dick betrays your intentions, yet again.” He looked pointedly at the growing bulge in Derek’s sinfully tight jeans. They’d be having stuffed sex later for sure. It was one of Stiles’ favorite things about the whole arrangement they had going.

Derek flushed. “If there wasn’t a deadly monster skulking about right now, who could possibly break into the room and eviscerate us before we could blink, I’d have you on your knees in a heartbeat.”

“I could strip, if that would help.”

Derek growled low in his throat. His wolf, at least, seemed intrigued. Derek closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. “When we get home,” he said.

Stiles fist-pumped, and Derek smirked. Stiles regarded him curiously. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Your wolf seems to be into what we’re doing a little bit too. I mean. I get that you’re one and the same—no separation and all that. But does something about the gaining thing speak to your wolf-y instincts or something?”

Derek chewed it over for a minute. “Safety,” he said. “It’s like. You being bigger means that you’re protected and secure enough for it to happen.” He shrugged. “Wolves love when their mates are safe and happy.”

Stiles smirked. “You love me,” he sing-songed.

Derek scoffed. “Shut up.” He ducked his head. “But I do.”

Stiles pushed himself off the wall and sauntered over to where Derek was standing. He maneuvered himself so that his legs were hooked around Derek’s and he was leaning fully into Derek’s space, his gently curving stomach slotting against Derek’s six pack. Stiles wrapped his hands around Derek’s trim waist. “I love you, too,” he said, drawing his boyfriend into a gentle kiss.

Derek moaned softly and slipped into it easily, deepening the kiss into something a little filthier than Stiles had intended. The familiar whoosh of arousal blossomed low in his torso, and his dick twitched as Derek’s erection brushed against it. Stiles groaned into it and rucked up against the hunky werewolf, eager to bring things further.

Several loud bangs echoed through the dismal space in quick succession. They sprang apart, hearts hammering. “Get some clothes on, boys,” Sheriff Stilinski’s voice said, muffled slightly by the door. “Deaton was able to trap the Kanima. We’re gonna head for the Nemeton—we think that’s where the witch is headed.” Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door before silence descended on the basement once again.

“And just when it was getting good,” Stiles groaned. “Rain check?”

Derek nodded, a small smile on his slightly puffed lips. He looked delectable. “Maybe after the cobbler.”

Stiles snorted. “Like I’d let you touch me before I had every bite of that thing in me,” he said, moving for the door. He unlatched it, but turned to Derek before opening it. “Think we could stay home tomorrow and make it a sex day?”

Derek rolled his eyes fondly. “I’d say a near-death run in the woods deserves a reward.”

“Fuck yeah!” Stiles said, leading the way back out.


	3. Trying On New Clothes, And Other Extreme Sports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to brunch with his friend Lydia, who has a few observations to share about his wardrobe choices.

Spring Break brought many things to Beacon Hills—sunny weather, the annual Spring Break-Out festival in the town’s large central park, a good portion of the pack returning from their various colleges—but the best part about Spring Break was the return of Lydia Martin.

She would only be back for the week—she had arrived on Saturday and would be leaving the next Saturday evening to return to MIT—but Stiles was elated to have her back even briefly.

He’d always adored her—had had a crush on her for a large portion of his life—but they had finally settled into an easy friendship after she had joined the pack. Though Stiles was in charge of research while she was gone, he always went to her if he got stuck on something. Her resources within MIT’s supernatural student population were truly incredible.

Tuesday morning—she’d spent her first couple of days back with her parents—Lydia had invited Stiles to brunch at the good bakery on Main, which everyone knew was his favorite. Either she was buttering him up for something, or she was simply being considerate of his tastes. Either way, he was more than a little suspicious of her intentions.

Lydia sat across from him at the tables outside the bakery primly, her shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail and her eyes unreadable behind her designer sunglasses. She was munching on a vanilla and white chocolate chip scone while sipping delicately on a small iced coffee. She was the picture of elegance and sophistication, as always.

Stiles, on the other hand, had opted for a caramel Frappuccino, a chocolate chip scone, and two of the simply divine raspberry jelly-filled donuts that the bakery had in stock. It was less than he would get with Derek, but he didn’t want to be rude and stuff himself in front of his friend. Particularly not since his clothes weren’t exactly the most flattering things anyway.

He’d opted for a classic Stiles look—simple t-shirt with a plaid overshirt, jeans, and Converse. The overshirt was fine—he’d always opted to have them a little looser, anyway—but the t-shirt and jeans were edging towards too tight for polite company. His t-shirt hugged his belly and sides, and even showed off the puffiness that had been building on his chest. His jeans cut into his sides unpleasantly—he’d had to struggle with them for a few minutes this morning to get them buttoned—and he feared what might happen if he stuffed himself while shoved into them. All in all he was starting to look pretty chubby—fat, even, by normal standards.

He’d found himself struggling with his confidence the past couple of weeks. Not usually around Derek—his boyfriend’s eagerness to get Stiles naked with as much frequency as ever continually reminded him that Derek was enjoying the weight just as much as Stiles was—but other people had been a bit of a struggle. Judgmental looks and the occasional whisper, people he’d known for years failing to hide their surprise, and his own father’s judgmental faces were enough to have started getting him down. It wasn’t quite enough to get him to stop, but it wasn’t exactly a pleasant thing.

Lydia quirked her head at Stiles’ plate when he’d finished only one of his donuts and a quarter of his coffee after ten minutes of light conversation—mostly about college, classes, and Lydia’s new friends at MIT. “Are you not hungry?” Lydia asked lightly.

Stiles bit his lip and shrugged. He didn’t really want to make a pig of himself in public right now, all things considered. “Why? You want something?”

Lydia considered for a moment. “I’m good, but thank you.” She took a sip of her coffee, careful not to smudge her bright red lipstick. “You know, I don’t have a problem with you eating, Stiles.”

He frowned and knit his brow. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“You obviously didn’t outgrow your clothes nibbling at the edges of a scone,” she said simply, punctuating it with a bite of her own. “It’s fine, Stiles. You’re fine.”

He pulled at his overshirt to cover his stomach ineffectively. “I guess I’ve just been self-conscious lately.”

Lydia nodded. “I can appreciate that. But you bought it, so don’t waste it.” She turned her head to watch a small group of people walk past them on the sidewalk before returning her attention to Stiles. “Are you still having weird food sex with Derek?”

Stiles spluttered and blushed furiously. “What are you—”

“You butt dialed me in the middle of it once. It was—” She paused and pursed her lips, a small smirk forming. “Informative.” She waved her manicured hand in the air dismissively. “I’m not going to kink-shame you or anything. I just figure that if you’re still having weird food sex with Derek, then Derek’s okay with it. And really, isn’t he the person you have to be most worried about with socially-motivated weight issues?”

Stiles huffed. “I guess. I—”

“And I hope to God you remember that anything happening with your body is ultimately nobody’s business but your own? That ultimately it belongs to you, and not even Derek gets to overrule that.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “He’s not forcing you to do it, is he? Because I won’t hesitate—”

“Jesus Lydia, no, he’s not forcing me!”

“—Even if he is a were—what? Oh.” She settled into her seat a little more. “Good.”

Stiles wiped a hand down his face. “It was my idea anyway,” he said.

Lydia frowned approvingly. “Huh. Should have known you were into some kinky shit, Stilinski.”

He ducked his head and chuckled before grabbing his scone and taking a bite. “It’d be a cold day in hell if I wasn’t.”

Lydia laughed lightly. “Beacon Hills? With snow? Unthinkable.”

They both laughed and continued with other topics while Stiles made his way through his food—even getting up to get a couple of chocolate-glazed donuts. He felt lighter, oddly.

* * *

“I can’t believe you haven’t gotten any new clothes at all,” Lydia said from the sidewalk in front of him, a few paces ahead.

Stiles pouted. “That doesn’t mean you need to drag me clothes shopping.”

“It won’t kill you to try on things that actually fit.” She stopped and made an abrupt turn to face him. He very nearly barreled into her. “I’ve been trying to fix your disaster of a wardrobe for years. Now I finally have an excuse.” She offered him a wide, close-mouthed smile before pushing into the store she’d stopped in front of.

Stiles threw his arms out and grumbled, “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.” He pushed into the store after her and skirted around the various racks and displays to find her thumbing through a selection of plaid button-ups.

“Don’t worry,” she said idly, “I’m keeping your brand in mind.” She pulled a red one out and held it out in front of him, calculating. She nodded curtly and shoved it into his hands. “No complaining. This is more a gift for myself than for you.” She gave him an assessing look. “I’ll throw in a couple of extras in the next size up. You need to be able to actually go out in public the next time you have a wardrobe malfunction.”

He sighed heavily and accepted a couple more shirts before she moved on to another rack. He followed. As if he would ever not. “Can we at least agree to nothing too out there? If you’re going to force clothes on me, I want to be able to actually wear them.”

She flicked her gaze from where she’d been looking through more shirts to his stomach pointedly before going back to what she was doing. “You seem to have no trouble with things you can’t wear,” she said idly. “That wasn’t an insult, by the way. Tight clothes can be cute when done properly, but I know you. I know it’s not a fashion statement, so it’s probably just uncomfortable.”

He huffed a laugh and raised his eyebrows in assent. “Well Derek certainly appreciates them, so they won’t be going to Goodwill just yet.”

Lydia smirked. “Y’know, there’s something so strangely human about Derek having a kink. Like, I know he’s a real person and everything, but he continues to surprise me.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said softly, “He keeps surprising me, too.”

Lydia smiled warmly at him. “Soft’s a good look on you, Stiles.” She flipped through a few more shirts. “Love is, too.”

He rolled his eyes and she laughed. “Wow,” he said drily, “A fat joke. Real hilarious, Lyds.”

They continued looking for a few more minutes before Lydia pushed him towards a changing room. “Try these on—and I mean all of them. Some brands size differently. I’ll be back with more.” And with that, she shoved him lightly into the small changing room, shoved the cloth curtain closed, and left.

The changing room was simple—a bench across from a tall mirror with two hangers on the wall opposite the cloth partition. He set the pile of clothes in his arms down on the end of the bench and stripped down to his boxers. Without even thinking much, he tried on the different shirts and pants—paying no mind to if they matched or not, only if they fit. And they all did, shockingly. He was almost surprised that they had a little breathing room. They looked like they actually fit—something he was becoming increasingly unfamiliar with in his current wardrobe. He was suddenly incredibly grateful for Lydia’s help. Even if she’d tried to slip a floral print in there. He loved her, but that would always be a hard no. He took off the last of what he had to try on and sorted the pile of clothes into “yes” and “no” piles. It was easy, since the floral print shirt was the only thing in the “no” pile.

On a whim, he turned to look into the full-length mirror. He ran a hand over his fuller face. His cheeks had puffed out the tiniest bit, and the beginnings of softness under his chin promised to give a companion to the moles scattered over his cheeks soon enough. He let his eyes flow downwards.

His gaze skipped over every last bit of his body, cataloguing the various pale, lightly pinked fleshy bits. His stomach was sticking out more than it ever had, threatening to droop into an overhang. It could probably be qualified as a belly, honestly, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about that step in his weight gain process yet. It was wide and plush and he and Derek had a lot of fun feeling up every last bit of it. He ran an appreciative hand over it, ghosting over the few harsh red lines that had started appearing recently on the sides of his lower belly and the small protrusions closing in on becoming love handles. He’d acquired stretch marks on his inner thighs and arms, too, but they were less intoxicating than the ones on his stomach—those ones held a kind of significance regarding his size that made him feel that he was past a point of no return. He could still lose the weight, of course. But the introduction of stretch marks gave the whole project an air of permanence that hadn’t been there before. It thrilled him.

He noted the puffiness in his chest, next. They weren’t anywhere close to being classified as moobs, but there was definitely a softness there that hadn’t been there before. His pink nipples were definitely more sensitive than they had ever been before—Derek’s mouth had proved that mere days prior. The discovery had plastered an evil grin on Derek’s face before he’d left Stiles a panting, moaning mess.

Stiles turned and gave his ass an appreciative soft smack. It was fuller—just like the rest of him—and had been driving Derek wild lately. He enjoyed how much his boyfriend appreciated every new bit of him that they made together. He wondered idly how much bigger he’d need to be before he outgrew the sizes Lydia had picked out for him. Hell, how long it’d be before he outgrew the next size up.

A polite cough from the cloth partition alerted him to Lydia’s head poking through the edge of the partition. “If you’re done feeling yourself up,” she said, “I have a couple more for you. The next size up.” She handed them over and smirked. “I wasn’t joking when I said soft looked good on you, by the way.” Before he could respond, she had shoved the partition back in place and was gone.

He blushed at having been caught checking himself out, but he was oddly not embarrassed. Lydia was fully aware of the fact that he enjoyed it, and she had seemed at least vocally appreciative as well. It filled him with a confidence he’d been struggling to find outside of the bedroom lately.

When he got the clothes that Lydia had handed him on, he was practically swimming in them. They were loose and baggy in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time, and he was suddenly aching with the desire to get so big he busted out of them. His face flashed hot and he had to strip out of them and back into the clothes he’d worn into the store before things got too embarrassing.


	4. Sex Brownies Should Totally Become A Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek get a little hot and heavy when Stiles comes home with some new ideas about their arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter is basically just porn. Whoops!  
> This is my first time EVER writing anything this explicit, so here's hoping it's okay!  
> As always, enjoy and bon appétit!

Stiles shuffled through the door of the apartment, arms laden with bags from his and Lydia’s shopping spree. “Hey Der?” He called as he set the bags down and toed his shoes off near the door. “You here?” He moved over towards the bar between the living room and the kitchen to find Derek in the kitchen—not an uncommon image in their apartment these days.

Derek glanced over at him, eyes raking up and down his body appreciatively. “Hey,” Derek said, mixing something that looked chocolate-y in a large bowl, “How’s Lydia?”

Stiles dumped his keys in the dish at the far end of the bar and moved towards Derek. “You know you can ask her yourself when we see her in literally, like—” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Two hours.” He gave Derek a quick “hello” kiss before leaning against the counter near where Derek was working. His forearms—tensing and moving with the rhythm of the spoon—were tantalizing. Though Derek always was.

Derek quirked an eyebrow at him. “Some people tell me it’s polite to ask about the welfare of people they care about. Particularly when those people are known to have run-ins with supernatural killers.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Using my own words against me won’t earn you any brownie points with me, mister.”

Derek huffed. “No, but these brownies might.” He nodded towards the mixture in the bowl. He set the spoon down on the counter and moved over to start pouring the batter into two large pans. “Remind me the next time we’re somewhere with home appliances that we should probably get a stand mixer.”

“And we don’t have one because…?” He grabbed the spoon and started licking at the chocolate-y goodness.

“Because,” he said, placing the pans carefully in the oven before shutting it and setting the timer, “I was—until recently—quote ‘terrible at being a real person’—your words, not mine—and you never cook if you can help it.”

Stiles lifted himself up to sit on the counter. “You like that I’m lazy,” he said. “Besides, why cook for myself when I can have home-cooked, certified Derek fresh meals?”

Derek set the bowl down next to Stiles on the counter and gently grabbed at Stiles’ burgeoning side. “At least I know you enjoy them.”

Stiles grinned around the spoon he was licking. Satisfied it was clear of all delicious debris, he grabbed the bowl. “So Lydia kind of knows,” he said. He didn’t want Derek to be blindsided later when the inevitable ribbing happened. “About, y’know.” He indicated his general stomach region with his free hand, chocolate coating his long index finger. He shoved it in his mouth. “This.”

Derek scowled. “Wait, like, she said something?”

Stiles grimaced. “Not anything bad. She assured me she would never kink-shame us. But apparently we kind of—” He grimaced. “Butt dialed her while we were getting it on.”

Derek blushed brightly and pulled a hand down his face. “Jesus, you’re going to be the death of me.” He took a deep breath. “She wasn’t weird or anything?”

Stiles shrugged. “Not outwardly. But you know Lydia.” He shrugged again. “She convinced me to upgrade my wardrobe finally. Guess she figured I wouldn’t want to literally grow out of my clothes.” At Derek’s smirk, Stiles amended, “In public. Jesus, you’re terrible.”

“Perfect opportunity, I guess. I didn’t want to say anything,” he said smugly, “But your ass was starting to look a little fat in those jeans.”

Stiles snorted and ran his finger over another part of the bowl before licking it clean. “Babe, all of me is fat.”

Derek bit his lip and laughed lightly. “I noticed,” he said. “I think the whole of Beacon County noticed.” Stiles blushed, his heart racing slightly. Goddamn it. Derek—who really should have been some kind of werefox or something with how sly he could be—licked his lips mischievously. “What do you think they might be saying?”

Stiles set the bowl down and took a shaky breath. Goddamn Derek goddamn Hale and his goddamn dirty goddamn mouth. God fucking damn it. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “What do you think?”

Derek moved smoothly into Stiles’ space, all easy grace and confidence. He pushed lightly at Stiles’ chubby thighs and moved them apart so he could slot in easily, flush against Stiles’ stomach and hands wrapping around his waist. Stiles’ hands instinctively wrapped around Derek’s neck. “I think,” Derek said, low and breathy, “That people wonder what happened to that skinny little twink that never stopped running his mouth.” He leaned in and ghosted his lips against Stiles’ neck. “They’re probably thankful that you’re too busy stuffing it now to babble.” He pushed careful lips against Stiles’ neck and grabbed Stiles’ side, making Stiles shiver.

Stiles closed his eyes. “Uh—mm,” he said intelligently. “Fuck. You’re probably—probably right.” He licked his lips. “At least they—they know how all this—Jesus—flab is piling on.”

Derek pulled away and—eyes dark—started yanking at Stiles’ overshirt. Stiles helped him, and with only a bit of hassle they got Stiles’ torso fully on display. Derek leaned back, took it in for a moment, then dove in towards Stiles’ puffy chest. Stiles moaned loudly, head thrown back. Derek’s hand creeped up to Stiles’ stomach and groped at the plush flesh. Stiles couldn’t wait until there was enough dough there for Derek to fondle handfuls at a time with more to spare.

“Fuck,” Stiles said. “Derek, I—uh—I have a thought.”

Derek hummed and pulled away momentarily. “Then I’m not doing it right,” he said. He looked up at Stiles, though, waiting.

Derek’s beautiful blue-green eyes—open and full of want—almost made Stiles forget what he’d intended to say. “Fuck,” he said. “You’re so beautiful, babe. But—uh—I got some new clothes today, right?” Derek thumbed at the harsh red lines on Stiles’ side. It felt really, really nice. “Ahh,” he said breathily. “You know how we’ve talked about busting me out of my clothes?” Derek’s eyes hooded a little, and Stiles smirked. “Well I’ve got a new goal, I think.”

Derek gulped, hands trembling slightly. “Oh?”

It was adorable how easily Stiles could make the other man weak. Granted, Derek had an easy time doing the same thing to Stiles. “I got some in the next size up with the new stuff.” He swallowed and breathed heavily. “I want to fucking bust out of those.”

Derek let out a choked sound, mouth falling open lustfully. “God, I love you,” he said, pulling Stiles into a filthy kiss. Stiles moaned into his mouth and deepened it as much as he could, hands grasping into the cloth of Derek’s soft, green Henley.

Stiles’ thighs cut into the counter with their movement, and he winced and pulled away. “Bed?”

“Bed,” Derek agreed.

“Just hand stuff, I think.”

Derek nodded. Without another word, Derek lifted Stiles up from the counter—Stiles wrapped his legs around his muscular boyfriend—and started carrying him towards their bedroom. Stiles was incredibly thankful for supernatural strength. Idly, he wondered, “I wonder how fat I’d have to be to be too fat for you to carry.”

Derek shuddered and set Stiles on the bed gently. “You probably don’t want to know,” he said. “First, busting your new clothes.”

Stiles hummed. “God,” he said, shivering. “I’m gonna be so huge.”

Derek shrugged out of his shirt and expertly shoved off his jeans and boxer-briefs in one fell swoop, dick nearly springing free from its constraints. “You’re already so soft,” he said, leaning over Stiles and running his hands all over his soft stomach. “You can only get hotter with more.”

Stiles groaned and threw himself back, pushing at his jeans. “Fuck you,” he said without heat. “God you’re gonna make me so fat.”

“Gonna make yourself so fat, you mean,” Derek said, helping Stiles as much as he could. Given the angle, Stiles wasn’t able to get both pants and boxers off together. But some maneuvering allowed them to get him fully naked.

Derek stood back, and both of them drunk their fill. Stiles knew exactly what he looked like today—plush and like his body was ready to overflow. They’d done this just last night, but Derek still seemed to take every opportunity to catalogue every single ounce.

Derek, on the other hand, looked like a living statue. Where Stiles’ body was all soft curves and squishy bulges, Derek’s was all sharp angles, hard lines, and solid mass. He seemed to maintain a perfect six pack like it was nothing—fucking werewolf metabolisms—dark hair leading from his belly button down towards his dick. Derek’s muscular chest pumped slightly, highlighting them and leading Stiles’ eye to his boyfriend’s gloriously bulging biceps. Derek turned around to the dresser that held their sexual materials—aside from the food they sometimes incorporated—allowing Stiles to appreciate his boyfriend’s taut ass.

Derek and Stiles were a lesson in contrasts, and the divide was only growing by the day. The contrast did things to Stiles—thoughts about his personal trainer boyfriend’s strength and muscles in comparison to his own body that was a monument to laziness and gluttony sent zings of pleasure straight to his dick. He threw his head back. “God. Imagine what people will say when my fat ass shows up holding your hand.”

Derek—lube in hand—moved over to the bed and quirked a teasing eyebrow at him. “Probably that I’m too hot to be dating a fatass like you,” he said truthfully. He tossed the lube beside Stiles and crawled after him, lowering his body to slot against Stiles’ softer one. The skin-to-skin contact was beyond amazing—all of Derek’s muscles grinding against Stiles’ fat. “Just wait till they see how I look at you.”

Stiles grinned at him and pulled the werewolf into a filthy kiss. Stiles rucked against him, shooting a wave of pleasure through him. “Magic fingers now, or after we grind each other into oblivion?”

Derek groaned and rucked upward enough to push at some of the softness in Stiles’ lower stomach. “Now,” he said desperately, mouth dropping onto Stiles’ collarbone.

Stiles moaned and grabbed—unsuccessfully the first few times—for the bottle of lube. He pushed Derek off of him long enough to get a generous amount into his hand and started warming it up. Derek was back on him, then, hands groping at excess flesh and mouth worshiping every inch it could reach.

Stiles—hands slightly shaky—reached down between them and grabbed Derek’s dick in his lubed hand. Derek shuddered and let out a soft, gasping moan. Stiles adjusted his grip and curled his long, slender fingers around his boyfriend, gently teasing every little sound he could get from the usually quiet man. Stiles released Derek for a moment to get some lube on his own dick before returning his attention to Derek’s. He rucked up against his boyfriend as he continued his gentle caress.

He let his mind wander to thoughts of growth—of food and fat and sex and more and Derek. A thought struck him, and he whispered breathily, “Fuck. Imagine what new ways we’ll be able to fuck when you can literally fuck my fat.”

Derek let out a louder moan, his eyes fluttering open and closed and his mouth unable to do anything but shudder. “Stiles.”

Stiles continued working his boyfriend. “Tell me what you want, Der.”

After a few breathy moments, Derek said, “You.”

“What about me?”

“Hng—more!”

“You gonna fatten me up, Derek? I want you to. I need you to.”

Derek opened his eyes and locked them onto Stiles’ as he came, a long, strangled moan echoing through Stiles’ dick until Stiles came with a loud, panting groan. 

They rode it out with each other, torsos sticky. Derek fell onto his back to Stiles’ right as they both came down from it. “Jesus, Stiles,” Derek said. “Your mouth.”

Stiles laughed. “If you’d rather stuff it while we did something like that, you know I’m game.”

Derek whacked him lightly on the arm. They laid there for a good minute or so before Derek leaned over and kissed Stiles’ shoulder before heaving himself off the bed and padding towards the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a warm washcloth, which he used to reverently clean Stiles off. Stiles just let it happen. Derek liked to take care of him.

When they were all clean, Derek fell back into bed and snuggled close to Stiles, who kissed Derek’s temple. “I love you,” Stiles said.

Derek smiled softly and kissed Stiles’ shoulder blade gently. “I love you, too.”

The buzzer sounded from the kitchen, and Derek smiled into Stiles’ shoulder. “Hope you worked up an appetite,” he said. “One of those pans is for you.”

“Me? Hungry? Have you met me?”

Derek’s eyes glinted mischievously as he extracted himself from his boyfriend and headed for the kitchen. Stiles leaned on his elbows to get a better look at Derek’s ass. Stiles could watch Derek’s naked body all day. “What’s that saying? Hate to see you go, but love to get hand-fed a shit ton of brownies?”

Derek only laughed brightly in response as he rounded into the kitchen.


End file.
